


Beg or Barter

by wobblyheadeddollcaper



Series: There Must Be 50 Ways To Please Your Lover [6]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 19:24:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5303705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wobblyheadeddollcaper/pseuds/wobblyheadeddollcaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hamilton is sick of watching Laurens get hurt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beg or Barter

“It’s nothing,” Laurens said, pulling his shirt down the cover the bandage across his ribs.

“Yes, because we have so many spare medical supplies that the physicians hand them out as decorative ornaments,” Hamilton said tightly.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise my injuries required reporting to you.”

“I didn’t realise you felt the need to lie about being injured! Is my concern so unwelcome?”

“It is,” Laurens said shortly. “I’m fine.” He pulled his jacket on, concealing a wince, and turned to leave.

“You don’t get to walk out on me,” Hamilton said, low and desperate, and Laurens stopped in the doorway as if pulled back on a leash.

“Excuse me?” Laurens turned around, frowning and ready to take refuge in anger. Hamilton stepped back, letting his shoulders drop. He looked suddenly tired.

“I meant, please.”

“Please?” Laurens said, confused.

“Please don’t walk out on me.” Hamilton forced the words out as if it hurt to say them.

Laurens walked back into the room, letting the door close behind him.

“All right, I’m staying here,” Laurens said decisively. “Washington can spare me for ten minutes. It’s a scratch, it’s fine, what’s going on?”

“I worry about you,” Hamilton said quietly. “You’re my dearest- my friend, you keep getting shot-”

“It’s a war-“

“And yet the rest of the aides de camp seem to be far less attractive to bullets-“

“I’m not trying to…” Laurens trailed off. “Your dearest friend? Really?”

“You’re the closest friend I’ve got here,” Hamilton said simply.

“You too,” Laurens said clumsily, trying to wrap words around his feelings. “I…”

“Yes, so imagine if I got shot and didn’t tell you for days, if I could have contracted gangrene and died without you having any warning.”

Laurens blinked.

“Which you never even considered,” Hamilton said, more in sorrow than anger. “You son of a bitch.” He looked despondent, as if he wasn’t even allowed to be properly upset.

“I didn’t.” Laurens stepped closer. “I’m sorry.” Laurens wanted to give him something, not an apology – he’d already said sorry, after all – but some sort of recognition. 

“You need to keep yourself safe, John,” Hamilton said, his eyes flicking from Laurens’s face to his mouth.

Laurens leaned forward and brushed his lips against Hamilton’s cheek in the manner of a French greeting, just a glancing touch.

“I will,” he said, feeling as though he was promising something a lot more complicated, weightier. “I’ll tell you if it happens again.”

Hamilton’s hand flew to his shoulder, keeping him close, their faces only inches apart. Hamilton’s eyes searched his face, hungry and fiercely intelligent, only too quick to understand Laurens’s expression. Laurens could feel his own heartbeat in his throat.

“Damn it,” Hamilton said low and fierce, and pressed his mouth against Laurens’s as recklessly as if running out into gunfire. The first kiss was quick and a little desperate, and as Laurens returned it he slowed it down, opening his mouth and feeling Hamilton sigh in relief.

“Well,” Hamilton said breathlessly as they broke off for air, “this complicates matters.”

“Really?” Laurens said, half-laughing, a little hysterical. “Complication is a vast understatement, Alex.” The enormity of it crashed over him in a wave; they were going to have to be so careful, they were already stretched to their limits in this war-

“Do you take it back?” There was a note of painful expectation in Hamilton’s voice. Clearly, someone had once kissed him and disavowed it.

“No,” Laurens said swiftly. “No, never.” His hand came up to clasp Hamilton’s arm, fingertips digging into the harsh wool of his uniform. “Christ, Washington is waiting, may I go? Do I look-“

“You look fine – go, go, we’ll talk later,” Hamilton said, his smile open and achingly vulnerable. “Talk to me later, all right?”

“I will,” Laurens said, his heart in his mouth. Would this be complicated? Yes, but he had never felt such a sense of unbridled possibility, great vistas of potential opening up before him like an undiscovered country.


End file.
